Memorium
by larkgrace
Summary: Three months after the war, Paul unexpectedly dies of a heart attack. Percy finds it hard to cope. For my friend Sydney, who lost her father last week. I love you, Syd.


**This is for my friend Sydney, who lost her dad on Thursday. We love you and miss you, Mark.**

**I don't own Percy Jackson, or anything else in here that might need a copyright sign next to it.**

O-o-O

Annabeth's cell phone rang for the fifth time in as many minutes. She sighed and glared at it, since she was in the middle of designing a monument for Olympus and she didn't want to be interrupted. Across the room, her half-asleep roommate threw a pillow and yelled, "Answer the stupid phone!"

Smiling, she slid to the other end of her bed and snagged the phone on its last ring. She took a second to decipher the name on the caller I.D. and pressed the phone to her ear, saying, "You called, O Great Oracle?" Her roommate was used to the odd nicknames and didn't bother to ask the meanings anymore.

Annabeth was caught off guard by the sobbing on the other end of the line. Rachel's voice buzzed through, scratchy and thick, and said, "Gods, Annabeth, did you hear?"

Annabeth's stomach dropped into her feet. What could have gone wrong now? It had barely been three months since the end of the Titan War, and she had become sick of the mini catastrophes that had followed. "Hear what?"

"It's…it's…Percy—"

Annabeth's heart fell to join her stomach. "What happened to Percy?"

"He—his dad—Paul…Paul passed—passed away this morning—"

"_What?"_

Annabeth sprang to her feet and paced into a corner and put her hand against the wall, which was suddenly blurry, or maybe that was just the tears filling her eyes.

"He had a heart attack—I'm at Percy's now, but he won't talk to anyone—I think you need to get over here."

"I'm on my way over." She snapped the phone shut without waiting for a response and ran out the door.

She spent the whole taxi ride to Percy's apartment forcing herself to go numb. She wasn't going to turn into a weepy pile of snotty Kleenex, not now. Percy _needed_ her right now, and he did _not_ need one more person to be worrying about. She was going to set her own feelings aside for the moment and take care of him.

As soon as she walked into his apartment, her walls crumbled and the tears started pouring. Percy was sitting on the couch, with his back against the armrest and his feet shoved into the crack between the cushions. There was a box of tissues, untouched, on a chair next to him, and there were tears streaming down his cheeks.

Percy _never_ cried.

He looked up at the sound of the door opening, his eyes red and swollen, and Annabeth thought her heart might shatter into a billion miniscule pieces. She dashed across the room even as he was opening his arms, and then she was holding him and tucking his head under her chin, and he was pulling her down into his lap and sobbing into her neck. She glanced up to see Sally in the kitchen with several adult friends, her hands wrapped around a mug of some hot drink, and Rachel in the corner, wiping her red nose. Then Annabeth pressed her face into Percy's hair, her tears flattening his mess of hair, and whispered, "I'm sorry," over and over.

She rubbed his back and let him ruin her shirt until he took a deep breath and croaked, "Thanks…I'm sorry you had to…to see that."

She would have smacked him if he didn't already look so fragile. "You don't have anything to be sorry about."

Percy stretched his legs out and pulled her down until she was lying on top of him like a blanket. "I love you."

She kissed his forehead and wiped tears off his cheeks. "I love you too."

*#*#*

Annabeth creaked open the door to the funeral home, poking her head in and calling, "Percy?" She winced when it echoed through the building.

She wandered into the visitation room and found him, along with Sally and a man that she assumed was the funeral director. Percy had collapsed into an armchair and looked as though he would like nothing better than to curl up and sleep. Sally was gripping the back of the chair and speaking in hushed tones to the funeral director. As soon as she entered the room, Percy unfolded himself from the chair and trudged across the carpet, wrapping his arms around her. She guided him to yet another overstuffed armchair—she could count at least a dozen in the one room—and let him fall into it, curling up in his lap when he grabbed her wrist in a silent plea. He pressed his face into her hair and murmured, "I don't want to talk to these people. I don't want sympathy. I just want them to leave me alone."

"I know."

Percy gave a bitter laugh. "Most people don't want to talk to me either. They're here for my mom. I'm just 'that Jackson kid' that keeps blowing things up."

She pecked him on the cheek. "But you're _my_ Jackson kid that keeps blowing things up."

"You always know how to cheer me up." Heavy on the sarcasm.

"I've got something even better." She reached into her bag—if only dresses had pockets—and pulled out a Ziploc baggie full of blue M&Ms.

"How did you know I needed sugar?"

"You look like you're about to pass out."

He sighed and set the candy on a table. Then he wrapped his arms around her and his head fell on the back of the chair, like he was going to take a nap. "Sometimes I wonder if you're really here. Or maybe I've really lost everything, and you and my mom and Rachel are just in my imagination."

"Hey, I'm real. And I'm here." Just to prove it, she smacked his arm. He grimaced and said, "Yeah, you're real."

"Percy?" Sally called, "Come over here. People will be arriving soon."

Percy slowly got to his feet and dragged himself across the room, lightly twining his fingers with Annabeth's as she walked beside him. The funeral director gave her a grim look and said, "Are you a family member?"

Annabeth shook her head.

"Then I must ask you, once you have paid your respects, to take a seat—or, of course, you are free to leave." He sounded as though he would prefer the second option.

Sally shook her head. "Annabeth can stay up here. She's as good as family." The funeral director huffed and flounced off, tugging on the collar of his too-small suit.

Annabeth reached up and gave Sally a one-armed hug, since Percy was holding her other hand. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you for coming," Sally said. "I'm glad someone's here for Percy."

"I'll take care of him," Annabeth said, "you just take care of yourself."

The funeral director stomped back in the room and flung the top half of the casket open. Annabeth looked away quickly. She felt Percy's hand clench, and when she looked back his fist was pressed against his mouth, like he was going to vomit. She wrapped an arm around his neck and rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb.

Mourners started trickling in, arriving in groups of two or three, and most would nod at Percy or maybe give him a pat on the back before moving past him and flinging their arms around Sally, sobbing and wailing about how _terrible_ her loss was and how she was _all alone,_ at which point Sally would point out that she still had Percy and the visitors would move on silently.

Maybe an hour into the visitation, when Annabeth was seriously considering pulling her knife and stabbing a few old ladies who were whispering and giving Percy dirty looks, she heard the sounds of lots of feet hitting the hardwood floors in the entry hall and several not-so-quiet voices. Percy looked up and wiped his eyes.

A sea of demigods—well, actually about twenty, but still enough to get some monster attention—poured into the room, flowing past the chairs and the tittering senior citizens. Some of them had tried to clean up—the Aphrodite girls were wearing sundresses, and a few of the guys had put on wrinkled button-up shirts—but most were wearing their camp shirts, dirty and sweat-soaked. They crowded around Percy; making up for the lack of comfort from the older visitors, and group hugged him, all chattering at once about this monster or an epic game of Capture The Flag or the new shoes they got. Annabeth slipped out of the mob and stood in the corner, smiling when she saw the disgruntled face of the funeral director. The campers had brought absolute chaos; their ruckus and bright colors breathing vestiges of life into the funeral parlor. One of the Stoll brothers—Annabeth couldn't tell which one from here—was ruffling Percy's hair, while one of the Aphrodite girls chatted his ear off. Thalia, who had slipped into the crowd, put an arm around Percy's shoulders, which had started trembling. Jake Mason patted his arm, and then everyone was pressing in on him, and Annabeth grinned. Percy still had a family.

Finally they left, much to the relief of the old women in the corner, and Annabeth brushed some monster slime off Percy's shoulder—how it got there she didn't know, nor did she particularly want to. He gave her an exhausted half-grin and fell into the nearest chair while a stampede of elderly ladies swarmed Sally and began chastising her about _your little boy's friends really shouldn't be so disrespectful._

"I'm glad they came. It made everything seem sort of normal," he said.

"Yeah, because a room full of obnoxious demigods is the epitome of normality."

"Show-off. You and your big words."

"That's why you love me."

He smiled for real and turned his back on the casket and its crowd. There would be no more visitors for him. "One of many reasons," he said.

O-o-O

**Prayers would be appreciated for my friend. She's having a tough time.**

**Review?**


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